


Survivor

by DJOVP



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Miles is a little OOC, Miles needs a hug, My First AO3 Post, My First Fanfic, No beta we die like Trager, Rape/Non-con Elements, torture elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:27:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26851423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DJOVP/pseuds/DJOVP
Summary: Miles has a bad time in Mount Massive.
Relationships: Miles Upshur/Chris Walker
Comments: 5
Kudos: 41





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing fanfic, so please leave me a comment if there's anything you think I can do to improve. Miles is a little out-of-character in this, I wanted to push him to his limits. I'm really excited to share this with my fellow Outlast fans, and this is a current work in progress. I do have two other chapters ready, and I'll be sharing them tomorrow. Apologies if they end at weird points, this was originally supposed to be a one-shot but I've been stuck at a certain part for the past few days, and I wanted to share this with y'all before I lost my nerve.

_ So maybe breaking and entering wasn’t the best idea _ , Miles thought numbly as he watched Trager's dead body from the farthest corner of the elevator where he had collapsed. He stared, half expecting him to come back to life and finish the job he had promised to do. The adrenaline rushing through his veins made him shaky as he attempted to stand, the camcorder still rolling in his mangled hands. Pulling himself up through the maintenance hole in the elevator, Miles’s breath hitched with the sudden agony coursing through his hands.

“Don’t think about it, Miles just focus on getting out of this hell hole. He can never touch you again, he’s dead.” he murmured to himself under his breath.

He stood and jumped over Trager's dead body, the jolt threatening to buckle his already exhausted legs. Miles stumbled down the hallway to the stairs and down two flights. The only way out was a tight squeeze through the wall, he tucked his camcorder away and ventured through into the office on the other side.

The room was only dimly lit, and Miles swallowed hard at the idea of using up his limited battery life. Turning on night vision he made his way through the door and into the adjacent room. He exhaled in relief at the realization he could see without his night vision. He turned the corner and nearly sprinted to the familiar sight of Father Martin. “Thank fuck man, how the hell do I get out of here?” Miles asked, eyeing the three boards nailed to the door that separated him and Father Martin. He glanced at his hands and blanched at the reminder of his stupidity.  _ There’s no way I can pull those boards off the door with my hands like this, and I’m not going to chance getting killed attempting to find a crowbar. Maybe Father Martin would be willing to try smashing the windows with his flashlight?  _ Miles thought and opened his mouth.

“Father do you think-” he started to ask but was cut off.

“Meet me in the church,” Father Martin said, turned, and ran away.

“Wait, where are you going?” Miles called desperately after him getting no response in return.

Miles quickly glanced around and darted into the darkness of the left corridor turning on his night vision as he ran. He turned right and found himself at a split in the corridors, and without thinking he chose the right path. He opened the only un blockaded door and found himself in a brightly lit locker room. Miles tentatively took a step in and listened for any variants in the area, but all his ears picked up was silence.

“Ok, Miles you can do this, just gotta find another exit,” he spoke softly to himself, only stopping to avoid stepping on a corpse and to pick up a file on the floor.

Walking through the room he spotted another door next to a row of sinks. He stopped to look at them momentarily, before deciding the bloody water in the bowls was not safe to attempt to cleanse his wounds with. God how he would kill for food, clean water, and a bit of rest, although a medkit would be nice too. Coming out of the locker room he instantly smelled smoke. Clumsily climbing through the window to the source of the flames, the heat hit him in the face like a bowling ball. The whole cafeteria was somehow on fire, coughing he began to weave his way through the inferno. The heat was only adding to the agony his hands were in, tears were welling up in his eyes and Miles knew he was almost at his limit of bullshit he could deal with. He nearly missed the variant that was sitting on a stool, he stopped still and prepared to run.

To his shock, the variant spoke, “The sprinklers, you need to turn on the sprinklers.” Miles was frozen and only snapped out of it when the variant shifted in his seat.

“O-ok, I’ll get right to it man, I’m going to squeeze past you now.”

Squeezing past slowly, the variant made no signs of acknowledging his words. He sighed and moved quickly in the direction he thought the sprinklers were. Ducking around flames he finally crawled through to an open space with a door. Opening it and rounding the corner he was greeted with another tight squeeze into the pitch-black space beyond. Biting his lip hard, as he fought not to make any noise to alert anyone to his location, as the sudden rush of blood flow from his hands made his nubs burn. Turning on his night vision, he quietly ran down the halls until he came to an open door. Peeking inside, he could see the start button for the sprinklers. The water pressure was in the red so he quickly moved on. Rounding the next corner, he fell into a crouch as he tried his hardest not to panic.

A silhouette of a man he would recognize anywhere in the world was standing in the far archway. Chris Walker wandered into the room, the sound of his chains making Mile’s legs weak and his breathing quicken. He quickly covered his mouth with his hand, smothering the shout of agony in his throat as his hand made contact with his face. Miles’s eyes clenched shut as he cradled his hand to his chest. The sudden sound of frighteningly close chains made his eyes shoot open as fast as they had closed. Chancing another peek around the corner of the hall he was hiding in, his eyes widened and he quickly shot back. Chris Walker stood tall at the beginning of the short corridor Miles had just peaked down, unmoving as he looked into the hallway to his left.

_ Please, don’t let him have seen me,  _ Miles pleaded in his mind, pure fear holding him frozen.

A tense moment passed before Chris moved down into the hallway to his left. Miles moved down the corridor and silently crept into the right hallway. Making his way down and around the corner to the doorway Chris had originally come out of, Miles spotted a sign pointing left. Moving as quickly as he could, he found his way to the end of the hall where he squeezed through shelves into a tiny space with an open door. Stepping through, he found himself in a bathing room. He gagged when he spotted a variant bathing a dead inmate in his blood. Miles made sure to face the variant, who paid him no mind as he made his way to the door at the end. Opening it he found a valve, turned it, and sprinted his way back out to the tiny space. Glancing through the shelves he had squeezed through, he spotted no sign of Chris.

Moving to turn off his night vision he cursed.  _ I used up a whole battery, now I’ve only got three left.  _ Popping another in quickly, he crouched and peeked around the corner. Chris still nowhere to be seen, he followed the signs to the only other room. Moving through two rooms, he finally found the final valve. Making his way back out into the main room, he listened closely.  _ It’s strangely quiet _ , he thought but shrugged. He had evaded Chris many times at this point, so often he could count the number of times they had encountered each other on just one of his fucked up hands.

Miles stood and walked carefully back to the room with the valve, his camcorder still filming everything in one hand, while the other was in his jacket pocket. He kept a careful ear out but allowed himself to relax a little bit. Rounding the corner into the valve room he froze. Chris and Miles locked eyes for a split second, and Miles bolted, running back the way he came. Chris’s loud, thundering footsteps echoed in his ears as adrenaline once more flowed through his veins. Miles could feel his footsteps falter and his hands pound with every desperate stride he took.

“Fuck off Chris,” Miles screamed as he ran, “I’m trying to turn on the sprinklers because there’s a fucking fire. Leave me the fuck alone!”

He forced all the energy into his body as he quickly darted around an office desk and doubled back the way he had come. Diving into the valve room, he hit the button and water exploded from the ceiling. Miles turned back around to run out of the room but he didn’t take more than two steps before Chris’s massive form filled the doorway. They both froze, and locked eyes. A spark of something crossed through Chris’s eyes before he shook his head, and returned to staring. Miles slowly backed away and his eyes darted around the room like a cornered animal. He shut his camcorder, slipped it into his pocket, and bent his knees in one smooth motion.

“Little Pig,” Chris said as he took in Miles' wild appearance.

He stepped into the room and quickly approached the lithe form. Chris reached out his hand towards Miles, and he jumped into action. Ducking under the outstretched arm, he moved around the large form, kicked him in the back of his left knee as hard as he could, and took off. Sprinting down the short hall, he forced himself quickly through the shelving unit.

Making his way back to the dining room, he weaved his way through the maze of burnt tables. Jumping over the table into the kitchen, he screamed as he was suddenly pushed, landing on his mangled hands. The pain punched his breath from his lungs, and he gave himself a moment before he was back on his feet. Moving through two doors blindly, and narrowly avoiding a panic attack at the sight of mangled fingers in a bowl he doubled back into the kitchen. He made it to the main entrance hall and sprinted to the open exit. Miles stepped outside into the pitch blackness and rain. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miles runs into (and from) Chris.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I kinda love and hate this chapter. Here Miles really shows his out-of-characterness but it provides all the angst, and a lil fluff too. 
> 
> Trigger Warnings:   
> Some vague mentions of sexual assault  
> Semi-graphic injures

Turning on his night vision, he made note that he only had two batteries left. He found his way to the fountain in the middle of the courtyard and squinted his eyes at the small shed he found. He walked over and opened the door, discovering a key and a spare battery. Miles nearly cried over the sight, his emotions were so frayed. Making his way out of the shed, he spied another door over to the right. His hunch was correct, the key fit. Slamming the door behind him, he made his way to the next door and opened it. Miles screamed and ran forward through the dark, shadowy figure that had rushed at the door. He shot out into another courtyard area and quickly glanced around. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a ladder. He started climbing, biting down pained sobs as both of his wreaked hands feebly pulled his weight up the ladder.

With shaky legs he stood on the roof and made his way along it, jumping across when necessary. His battery was low, and when he went to change it he fumbled with the camcorder dropping one of his fresh batteries along with the old one. Miles could’ve sobbed at the sight of one of his lifelines now on the ground.  _ One battery left _ was the only thought running through his mind as he inched his way across a narrow ledge. Dropping down, he immediately hopped another fence, at this rate he wouldn’t be able to move his hands pretty soon. They would stiffen up with cold, pain, and infection. He made his way past some tame variants and spied a hole in the fence. Looking through his camera lens, he was able to spy a stack of crates that would let him hop the fence. Jumping down he sprinted towards the crates, only to stop and duck down behind a rock when he heard the unmistakable sounds of Chris beating down the chain-link fence. The thud of the fence falling to the ground resonated through his body. He silently crept around Chris and ran to the crates. Jumping up on the crates, he could hear Chris’s chains as he stormed towards Miles.

With a pained heave, he lurched himself up and over onto the ledge. Scrambling to stand on shaky legs, he wobbled his way along the narrow ledge over the fence. He noted with disdain his battery was now dead, taking a moment to swap in his final battery before he jumped off again. The moment he made contact with the ground, he knew he landed wrong. His ankle twisted, his hands hit the muddy, uneven ground, and the camcorder went flying. The pain knocked his breath away, and he struggled to fill his lungs, his ribs suddenly aching profusely. Laying there for a minute, he felt around the pitch blackness for his camera, after another few minutes of desperately feeling around the ground he touched the strap. The relief he felt was so profound, it could be called a spiritual moment. Pushing himself up, he tried to take a step on his ankle and collapsed. Miles was about to let out a frustrated scream when the faint sounds of chains dragging on the ground reached his ears. His heartbeat increased and he pushed himself up again and limped towards the center of the courtyard.

The night vision on his camera was the only reason he could see, as there was absolutely no light. Miles wandered around lost, he had severely underestimated the size of this courtyard. He could only watch helplessly as his battery ran lower and lower, and the sound of chains grew louder and louder. Chris was in here with him and he couldn’t run. Even before he had injured himself, he knew he was on his last leg. He hasn’t had any food, water, rest since he entered this hell hole however long ago. He had been drugged, tortured, chased, and hit. He had a twisted ankle, two mangled hands, and was moving with pure willpower again. His adrenaline had seemed to disappear and the full force pain of all his injuries made it hard to think. The concussion Chris gave him when he tossed him out a window had worsened, making his head fuzzy and his ears ring.

Miles looked around one last time before his battery died, in a desperate attempt to find his way out of this. He froze when Chris’s frame appeared in his viewfinder, and he was looking right at him. Pure fear filled him and the moment he heard the slight jingle of movement, he bolted. Frantically, he limped as fast as he could, looking through the last flashes of night vision as his battery died. He spied a small gray mound to his right and closing his camcorder he blinding darted towards it. Miles could only hear the overwhelming sound of his heartbeat and Chris’s heavy footsteps. He chanced a glance back and saw gold-tinted eyes flashback at him in the barely visible moonlight.

Miles screamed when his bad leg collided full speed with the backside of the gray mound. He tumbled over and let out another groan as his hands scraped the ground to catch himself. He quickly sat up and scooted backward. To his surprise, it appeared to be a covered nook, maybe used for housing a small generator. He scrunched up all his limbs in the small space and tilted his head back so his hyperventilating breaths would be silenced. He felt like he was going to die with the amount of fear filling his body, he had never hated himself more than in that moment. 

_ I’m going to die...I’m going to die...I’m going to die _ was the only thing running through his brain.

Miles clenched his eyes shut, and hugged himself as hard as he could in a desperate attempt to make himself as small as possible. He could hear Chris arrive at his hiding place and he waited paralyzed with fear. He watched as Chris’s boots paced back and forth in front of the opening of his hiding place. Miles burst into tears, his heaving breaths and body-wracking sobs loud even over the sound of rain. A sudden surge of disgust ran through him, he was a fully grown man for fucks sake, and here he was crying like a child. He knew Chris knew he was there and was playing with him. He closed his eyes and could only wonder when Chris was going to rip his head off. He wished Chris would kill him if it meant he wouldn’t use him as Trager had used him. His thoughts immediately going to how easy his head had fit into the man's hand and how he had massacred the inmates one by one, in painful ways. An ironic death, killed by the very people he’s risking his life and sanity to help. Maybe this is mercy? He could feel his mind slipping more with every minute he stays within these walls and he’s been seeing static.

“Little pig?” Chris said.

Miles refused to open his eyes and attempted to hold his breath

.

“Little pig, I see you,” he grunted, more forcefully this time.

Mile’s eyes shot open with shock at that statement, he had never heard Chris speak that much before. He immediately wished he hadn’t. The terrifying form that was Chris Walker, filled the small entrance of the nook. He had knelt and his face was looking right into Miles’s own. This made Miles burst into new tears and attempt to scrunch himself even further into the corner he was in. He pulled his bad leg further into his body and let out a low cry at the sharp pain that shot up his leg and ribs. He gritted his teeth, and uselessly tried to catch his breath. Now as small as he could make himself, he knew it wasn’t enough. Chris could easily pull him out, and Miles couldn’t even fight him. He was so tired, and he could feel a panic attack looming, waiting to course through his body.

“I’m not going to hurt you Little Pig.”

Miles could only sob out the words, “Yeah right, any second now you’re going to rip me out of here, and kill me.” He choked on the syllables and had to force the barley intelligible words out. “I’m just a journalist who came to expose Murkoff, I just wanted to help, and now I’m going to die here. I trusted an anonymous tip and look where it got me.” He helplessly gestured around him and accidentally hit his hand on the inside of the nook. He let out a high whine and could only clutch his hand to his chest as a new wave of agony rolled through his body. A fierce trembling overtook him and he broke out into a cold sweat. He felt a sense of helplessness so strong it almost rivaled that of which he felt at the hands of Trager and his patients.

Chris grunted “Breath little pig.”

“Can’t, busy dying.” Miles gasped out, turning and biting into his arm in a desperate attempt to ground himself. He was suffocating, struggling to draw in even a single breath. He could barely see Chris’s face through his tears but he did notice the new presence of an arm reaching into his space. Miles lashed out, kicking the arm with his good leg in a feeble attempt to maintain distance.

Chris retreated his arm and scowled.

“I’m trying to help you little pig, not going to hurt you.” He said, eyes flashing with confusion and irritation.

“Lying, going to hurt me, me not stupid,” Miles said between frantic gasping breaths. His head growing fuzzy, then suddenly clear again as a hand grabbed around his bad ankle and began to pull. He let out a blood-curdling scream as a sharp, hot pain ran through his body, and tried to kick his way free. Attempting to wrench his bad leg free only caused more pain and he couldn’t get his good leg in a good position to kick. Desperately he clawed at the hand with what remained of his fingers, then clawed at the walls to try and remain inside. One of his good fingernails caught on a broken part of the wall. “Stop, please.” He begged Chris in a loud cry, knowing it was futile. Then with another tug on his leg from Chris, his fingernail came clean off. Miles couldn’t breathe, the pain from his leg, hands, and finger had kicked the air out of his lungs. He froze, allowing himself to be pulled out, silent tears streamed down his face, and his face scrunched.

“Little pig, you need to breathe,” Chris said gently, removing his hand from Miles’s bad leg.

Miles exhaled shakily and struggled to inhale as he lay on the ground. All sense of safety had been ripped away from him.  _ Chris lied to me, hurt me, hurts so bad, not safe, not safe, dying, I’m dying. Chris help maybe? Dying, can’t breathe, can’t think. _

“Dying” Miles croaked out in a whisper, his eyes clenched shut.

He felt hands pull him up and settle him in a much bigger lap. His head was pressed against a huge chest and his feeble desperate struggles were easily ignored.

“Try and match my breathing, Little Pig” Chris said softly, as to not further frighten the man in his lap.

He started to exaggerate his breaths and made no sudden movements. He didn’t attempt to crowd Miles at all, keeping his arms at his sides.

Miles listened to the solid heartbeat and felt the rhythmic in and out of his breaths. He focused on matching that rhythm and slowly his erratic sobs slowed. His panic subsided, for now, all he could feel was bone-deep exhaustion.

“That’s it Little Pig, not going to hurt you, you’re safe.”

With that remark, any resemblance of peace was lost. Miles threw himself off Chris’s lap and scrambled back. Attempting to clamber to his feet was stopped by a hand grabbing his jacket and gently pulling him down again. “Don’t fucking touch me!” Miles yelled, voice cracking

He twisted desperately out of the grasp, fell to the ground, already on the verge of another panic attack.

“What’s wrong Little Pig?” Chris asked.

Miles trembled and with a shakily angry voice managed to get out “Not safe, nowhere in this goddamn hellhole is safe. I’m not stupid enough to believe that again.”

“Why would I lie to you Little Pig? Chris asked, confused.

Miles flinched and didn’t answer the man. Equally confused as to why Chris would be asking him that. He wouldn’t be tricked by false words and concerns. Lying would be an easy way to lure him into a trap. Was Chris actually stupid enough to think Miles didn’t know that? He felt sick knowing he was once more the unwilling prey on his back.

“What did you mean by again Little Pig?” Chris asked after it became apparent that Miles wasn’t going to answer his previous question.

Miles blanched heavily, and his thoughts spiraled to Trager. He didn’t realize he wasn’t breathing again until a hand touched him and he jerked back. Chris looked alert and kept a close eye on Mile’s movements, ready to catch him should he make a run for it.

_ If I run now, Chris will catch me before I even make it to my feet. If I answer his question and trick him into thinking I’m being cooperative, that’ll be my best bet for getting him to let his guard down. Hopefully, that’ll buy me a few seconds. Come on Miles, you only have got this one shot, you’re a fucking survivor now, act like one!”  _ He thought to himself.

Miles swallowed nervously and slowly uncurled his limbs, casually positioning himself so he could push himself up quickly. He suddenly spoke, when he noticed Chris' sharp eyes narrowing in suspicion at his movements. “I was being chased by you and a bunch of other variants when a voice came over the speaker promising safety so like an idiot I jumped at the chance. I got in the dumbwaiter and was taken to Trager where he strapped me into a wheelchair, taunted me with the exit, and took me into a bathroom. He pulled rusty shears from a urinal and did this,” Miles pulled both his hands free and showed them to Chris quickly before shoving them into his pockets.

Hopefully, that was enough truth to satisfy him. Showing the man his hands was a necessary evil, but Chris had already glimpsed them and by hiding them he probably would’ve been physically forced to reveal them anyway. Miles could go through physical torture again if Chris wanted to one-up Trager in a sort of sick game. He had purposely omitted the true length of what Trager had done to him, knowing if Chris was going to play this game, at least he wouldn’t know about that. Miles wouldn’t be able to survive a second time, he had barely scraped by as it was.

Miles eyed the tall man sitting on the grass in front of him through glassy eyes. His breathing was painful but regular and his head felt a little clearer. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a glimpse of a light, thinking he ran through his options. He was hurt but still thought he could manage to get up and get a good amount of distance between him and Chris. The big man was surprisingly agile for his size, and Miles was slower than ever but Chris would need to take a few moments to get off the ground. He glanced at Chris who seemed to be thinking about what to say next, facing Miles but distracted. Miles quickly scrambled to his feet and took off ignoring Chris’s sudden angry shout behind him, he half-ran/limped towards the light.

He stumbled multiple times in the pitch blackness, with only the far off light guiding his way. He could hear Chris gaining on him, now he had managed to stand up once more. Miles pushed himself to go even faster, putting more weight on his twisted ankle wincing with every step he took. As the light in question came into view, he realized it was a tunnel. Chancing a glance back to Chris, his feet fumbled clumsily as he noted the annoyed look on his face and the fact he was no more than two arms lengths away. Running into the tunnel, he threw himself on his belly and army crawled through the small hole in the cement. He had shoved himself almost entirely through before he felt an iron hand grab onto the back of his shoe. Kicking frantically he was able to dislodge the grip and pull both legs over to the other side.

“Little Pig!” Chris yelled, his angry voice carrying through the hole. Miles jerked in fear and scrambled on his elbows further into the tunnel. Chris spoke again, his tone quiet and deadly. “I’m coming for you little pig.” With that Chris turned and walked off.

Sprawled out on his front on the other side of the hole, Miles took a deep breath. His ankle felt like it was on fire now, and he wasn’t sure it'd support his weight any longer. He took a moment to catalog his other injuries as well. He gagged heavily when he saw the mess of grime clinging to his hands. They were now burning hot with every sudden movement, and he could see the beginning of infection setting in. He could feel his heartbeat pulse through his exposed nail bed. When touched by the cool night’s air it sent a line of pain through his hands and into his wrist. He also noted the mild pain in his ribs that had existed since Chris threw him out the window, and now seemed to grow worse with every breath he took. Miles gingerly sat up, using the wall to support himself. He could feel his back protest with every movement he made and knew that underneath his jacket was a giant bruise from when he had landed on the pile of bodies. Ignoring the thought of his more intimate injuries, he kneeled and pressed his clammy forehead into the cool brick wall.

Chris’s words rolled through his mind. How could someone make an offer of safety and then promise to hunt him down so soon after? Miles wondered what changed Chris’s mind about him, so much as going from simply trying to kill him, to playing these mind games. Did it have something to do with the almost look of recognition that was in Chris’s eyes before?

He did look familiar to Miles, as if he knew him from before, he couldn’t place him though. Not with a strong, pounding headache building up around his temples and the beginning of nausea echoing down his throat.

He winced at his stupidity, he had let himself be momentarily seduced by the idea of being safe in this hell hole, even for a little while. He had let his guard down, made his weaknesses apparent, and let himself be at the mercy of a killer. Chris could have easily wrapped his hands around his throat and tore his head off. The image of the man who had held him close not even five minutes ago and the one who had hurt him battling inside his brain.

It didn’t matter at all because he didn’t trust Chris as far as he could throw him. He would come to his senses eventually and this temporary act of kindness would be nothing but a dream. Chris would definitely try and kill him next time he saw him, Miles decided firmly. He had said he would come for him again. Although, he might just find him here in this same spot. Moving just promised more pain and the bone-deep tiredness made his body heavier each moment he lay there. Staying, however, promised death either from infection or any of the violent patients that freely roamed the halls.

He would be walking in blind, at least until he could find another battery. Miles swallowed hard and gritted his teeth as he lifted his broken body from the ground.  _ This is stupid, I refused one death, just to walk into another. I’ve just got to find Father Martin and get out of here as quickly as possible.  _ Gingerly, he limped out of the tunnel, feeling for the first time the true extent of his injuries. He made it to the dark walkway outside, took one look at the steps leading to the door, turned, and walked through the broken fence to his right. He was now in a small courtyard and felt a glimmer of hope as he began to examine the benches for batteries.

Miles openly cried in joy when he picked up the small, silver cylinder from a bench, and then noticed that leaning on the same bench was a study stick, perfect for a substitute cane. He silently sent his thanks skyward, grinning at his sudden luck. He looked for a way into the female ward, where he was supposed to meet Father Martin. The building promised no entrances other than a stack of crates underneath a broken window. After limping around multiple times he concluded that climbing the crates would be his only option. He didn’t want to stick around here longer anyways, every jingle of the fence in the wind reminded him of Chris. He sat down on the first crate, held the stick between his legs, and scooted himself backward till his back hit the next crate. He then placed his elbow on the second crate, and with a protective hand around his ribs lifted himself up onto the crate. Using that same method, Miles was able to make it to the windowsill with no problem. Quickly tossing his stick inside, he lowered himself down as carefully as he could. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miles gets the fuses and is one stubborn motherfucker.

Picking up his stick, he opened his camcorder, and fit his hand in the strap. He walked straight, the soft light from lit candles just barely lighting his way. He tried the locked doorway to the stairs first, then turned left. A familiar voice filled the room.

“You saw the Walrider, didn’t you?” Miles winced at the memory of the black ghostly figure who had attempted to attack him.

“You’re beginning to understand, but not yet. Even Abraham had to cast his eyes to the ground. But soon, soon. This way! Revelation is at hand!” Father Martin yelled from the second floor, then turned and took off running again.

Miles opened then closed his mouth, the ask for assistance on his tongue had died away with the mention of the Walrider. He sighed and turned to look for a way to follow. The dark tunnel on his left made him hesitate, fingering his cane, he slowly entered. He would need to conserve his night vision, so he only turned it on for a second to get a glimpse of what was inside. He noted a window and what looked to be a dead end. Turning off his camera he walked towards the pale moonlight, getting close he saw a dead figure on the floor next to a battery. Walking forwards quickly, the tap-tap of his cane hitting the floor making the only sounds in the corridor, he snatched the battery from the ground and secured it in his pocket. He walked blindly into the other half of the corridor, having noted a knocked over table blocking the rest of the path. Using his cane to feel his way around, Miles was able to make his way down and to the table without the use of his vision.

Bracing his ribs, he lifted the cane over and braced himself with it. Sitting on the very edge of the table he slowly lifted each of his legs over, holding his breath as pain shot through different parts of his body at the same time. Before standing he opened his camera and activated night vision again. Miles was sure he made quite a sight, walking down the hall to the corner. A man covered in grime, with two mutilated hands each clutching an object, leaning most of his weight on a stick, and was breathing like he just ran a marathon. He glimpsed down the corner and flicked off the night vision. Walking as silently as he could, he screeched and jerked back falling as a door slammed right next to his ear. He held his breath, silently counting to 10 in the pitch blackness before struggling to stand back up. Turning back on his night vision, he noted the door which had been slightly ajar was now completely shut and locked. Turning to face down the rest of the path, he felt his heart stop for a second at the sight of a figure leering at him through the glass door at the end of the hall. He glanced behind him and when he looked back the figure was gone. Deciding to keep his night vision on, he made his way down the rest of the hall. To his left was another short corridor, so he decided to take it. Glancing down revealed only one squeeze through some shelves, so he turned off his night vision and continued blind. Squeezing through the tight space was pure agony. He had needed to toss his cane though to the other side, so his ankle and ribs were now unsupported. His back brushed against the shelf, and the giant bruise flared up making him freeze.

Suddenly, heavy steps filled the air, and Miles watched frozen as a dark figure passed by the glass door, from which he was only twenty feet away. Moving quickly, he tore his way through the shelves, gathered his cane, and limped as fast as he could to the open kitchen counter he could lift himself through. Miles cringed at the height of the counter, and he knew he would need both hands for this. Laying his camera and cane down on the counter, he planted his hands and let out a pained whine as he jumped his way onto the counter. Quickly, swinging his way around, he dropped down on his good leg, staggered, and gathered his stuff. Turning on his camera he noted he had about half his battery left. 

Passing through the well-lit door, he was greeted by an old laundry room. Checking the room quickly he discovered another battery. The door leading to the dark hallway was open, turning on his night vision he quickly peeked around each corner of the doorway. Noticing a lighted doorway he headed towards the opening, jumping when a heavy thud hit the ceiling and the lights went out. Turning to the open doorway on his left, he turned on the night vision and stepped in. A chalkboard framed the main wall on which he spied another battery. Looking around the rest of the room he spied nothing of importance and wandered back out to the hallway. After a few twists and turns, he found himself at a closed stairway door, with a lighted room to his left. As he was trying the locked doorknob a wheezy voice behind him made him whirl around.

“My babies, not my babies” the variant wheezed staring straight at him. Miles only had eyes for the sharp knife situated in the crazed variant’s hands.

“Ok man, not your babies. I’m not going to hurt your babies, I’m just going to go in there.” Miles said gesturing with his head.

The man didn’t respond, so Miles backed away slowly keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the potential threat in front of him. Only when he had reached the brightly lit room, did he turn and limp away as fast as he could. He discovered two open staircases tucked away, one leading up and the other leading down. Father Martin was on the top floors, so he would need to head there. As he ascended the staircase painfully, every jagged, uneven limp jostling what he now thought to be fractured ribs. His right hand, painfully gripping the top of his makeshift cane. Turning the bend in the staircase, he stopped and stared. An arrow of blood pointed up, but Miles' attention was drawn to the hole in the staircase. He couldn’t jump that, not like he was, however going back wasn’t an option. Miles leaned against the railing for support and tossed his camera and cane over to the other side of the hole. The action of throwing was enough to send a sharp wave of pain through his ribs, making him press his mangled hands against his torso, and gasp for breath. Tears in his eyes, he stood and pressed all his weight on his injured ankle. He darted forward, his ankle screaming on the verge of collapse, and threw himself onto the stairs on the other side. His scream as his fractured ribs impacted on the sharp outlines of the stairs was abruptly cut off as pure agony coursed through his whole body. His vision turned white as his body completely went rigid. He pushed himself onto his back, hands shaking profusely, as he struggled to breathe. Suddenly, he twisted and vomited over the side. He turned back onto his back and took deep greedy breaths.  _ Let’s just hope I don’t have to do that again because I’ll probably pass out next time,  _ he thought bleakly.

Miles could only lay there for a little while, his scream was loud enough that someone would’ve heard, and he couldn’t fight back against anyone in this state. Struggling to stand, he barely caught himself when his ankle flared and collapsed. He wouldn’t be surprised if he had turned a simple sprain into a fracture, and his foot was swollen in his shoe. Standing straight up seemed to help with his ribs, making the pain lower to a handleable level. Hobbling up the rest of the stairs, he sighed when he made it to the top and was able to stand on level ground. Noticing another stairway entrance, he tried to open the gate in front of it. He would need a key to unlock it, turning he went to find one. A sudden voice interrupted his thoughts, “Well done, you can gain access to the chapel using the upper floors.” Father Martin had appeared across the gaping hole in the middle of the floor.

“Wait Father Martin, I’m not going to be able to make it! How do I get out?” asked Miles desperately. Father Martin didn’t answer and simply walked away once more.

“Ok, never mind you fat fuck. I’ll make it out of here myself, and you can keep playing your sick fucking games. I bet you touched some kids, and that’s why you were sent here!” yelled Miles angrily.  _ I should’ve known better than to trust the same fucking priest who drugged me and almost got me killed multiple times. Stupid, stupid, stupid. If you brought a weapon like a normal person maybe Trager wouldn't have- no don’t think about it. Focus on getting out.  _

Miles turned and limped down the dark hallways, pausing when he realized his battery had died. He wandered into a lit room, where he found the key to the staircase. It was stuck with a dead body in a dumbwaiter. The fuse box needed to operate the dumbwaiter was, of course, empty. “Can I not catch a break?” Miles mumbled to himself.

Further maneuvering through the dark halls, with only his night vision to guide him, he arrived at a candlelit hall. Messages written in blood seemed to be a trend over here in the female ward, Miles was more interested in the cavernous room at the left end of the hall, and he approached carefully. Glancing in with his camera his breath stopped. He spied one of the fuses he needed but the variant holding a very large knife prevented him from charging in. Gathering his courage he entered slowly and was able to snatch the fuse successfully. Slipping it into his pocket Miles made it out of the room, softly closing the door behind him.

He made his way slowly down to the right end of the hall now, noting his battery had dropped dramatically. A bed frame lay vertically in the middle of the hall and Miles sighed. Bracing his ribs, he lifted the cane over and braced himself with it. Sitting on the very edge of the bed frame he slowly lifted each of his legs over, holding his breath as pain shot through different parts of his body at the same time.

A loud boom-boom-boom filled the empty air. Miles quietly found a niche in the wall and slid his back down, making sure his cane didn’t touch the floor. Positioning himself, so he could peek around the corner at the now apparent door at the end of the right side of the hall. A figure wielding another knife broke down the door and made his way over to Miles. Moving past his hidden figure, the man jumped over the bed in the middle of the hall, his footsteps fading. Standing as fast as he could, Miles made his way to the now open door. Entering the room, Miles made quick work of finding the fuse and leaving. Making his way back to the hall, he hunkered down in the same niche and changed the battery on his camera. Glancing around the niche, he noticed two batteries lying on a shelf of a bookcase next to him. Grabbing them, he heard a thud and quickly hunkered down. The man who had burst out of the room had hopped the bed frame and was now moving past Miles hiding place farther into the hallway. Moving as quickly as he could, he painfully swung himself over the bed frame and made his way back to the fuse box. Loading in two of the fuses he noticed a kitchen counter to his right.

“Ok Miles, how much do you want to bet that the last fuse is somewhere in there, along with something that will try and kill me. People have gotten through worse, hell you've been to Afghanistan and exposed the fucking government. I can do this, piece of fucking cake. I’m just going to hop the counter, get the fuse, come back here, get the hell out, and bring Murkoff down.” he spoke out loud to himself, walking over to the counter in an effort to psych himself up.

Laying his camera and cane down, he planted his hands on the counter and let out a pained whine, hefted his way onto the counter. Quickly, swinging his way around, he dropped down on his good leg, staggered, and gathered his stuff. “That never gets easier.” he mumbled to himself, making his way down the dark, ruined hall, Luckily, it didn’t take him very long to find the room, given how signs in blood reading “Drive in the nails” dotted the hall leading directly to the door.

Entering the room, he gagged at the wrapped dead man dangling from his feet in front of the room's fireplace. Luckily, he spotted the last fuse and grabbed it from the table on which it lay. Footsteps echoed through the corridor of which he had just come. Stumbling over to one of the beds which occupied the room, he threw himself on the ground and slid underneath. Gritting his teeth as his ribs and legs were jostled, he watched as the very same variant once more appeared. Watching the man walk into the room and maneuver over to the dead body, Miles moved into action. Sliding out, he found his footing and darted out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Adrenaline rushed through him, as he pulled himself over the counter and inserted the last fuse. Looking over his shoulder, he pounded the dumbwaiters button open and watched in disbelief as the body occupying the dumbwaiter, along with the key bell to the bottom floor.

“What- why? Why is everything so goddamn difficult in this place!” he cursed as he made his way to the staircase that he had come up before. Hobbling down, gripping his cane, he swallowed hard at the sight of the hole. He threw his cane over once more and pocketed his camera. Ignoring the deep ache in his leg he turned and leapt. His legs buckled when his feet touched the ground, his bad ankle collapsing immediately and with a loud thud, his left knee met the ground hard. Desperately grabbing at the railing as he felt himself start to fall, his hands just barely grabbing hold. The blood and other substances from his hands make the railing slick. His ribs screamed in protest as he pulled himself up depending on the railing for support. 

_Fuck that hurt. How the hell am I going to manage to jump that again? You really fucked up again Miles, could've gone out with a bang. Instead, you're going to be killed by a fucking stairwell because you can't fucking jump._

Picking up his cane slowly, he painfully descended the stairs. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies, if the injures seem inconsistent. I'm trying to keep it as realistic as possible, but also he's in a hostile environment so I'm playing the 'In order to survive the body will keep going until it cannot literally move any longer' card. Also, how has this man not complained about how thirsty he must be. Like he's been doing hardcore cardio for hours, so you know he wants water.


End file.
